A Night in Berlin
by xKainexx
Summary: At a World Conference in Berlin, France is dared by England to get a kiss out of Russia. So what do he do? Well, he invites him to a bar, of course! Fail Summary. Shounen-Ai, Russia/France.


**OKAY~! So, um, this is... I guess my first upload... Not counting that one little story that I put up for maybe a day before taking it down... But anyways!**

**Um... Well, okay. The ONLY reason I'm uploading this particular story is because, when I first started writing stories I vowed that the first story I uploaded would be a Russia/France story. So here it is~.**

**It was originally supposed to be one long story, and this was going to be the prologue... But as you can probably guess, I didn't get around to writing the rest. And guess what happened? Because I didn't write down my ideas, I kind of forgot where I wanted to go with it (surprise, surprise). I only have a vague idea of what I was going to do with it, so I just decided, instead of trying to come up with a whole new story, to upload this one instead. 'cause it's already finished... And... Yeah...**

**I don't know if I'll ever get around to writing the rest, but if I do... I'll just upload this chapter again... Along with another one... Woo...**

**Fail title is fail. /fail**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Hetalia... Blah, blah, blah.**

**Couple(s): Russia/France**

**Warnings: Light Yaoi (Shounen-Ai) - a.k.a. Boy/Boy, Mildly Lusty/Lewd France (Very Mild)**

**Um... Enjoy...? And I apologize if it sucks! I wrote this months ago... Not that that means that I don't suck now. I'll leave that up to you guys to decide after I upload more stuff... So, yeaaaaah... Enjoy! (Onegai shimasu!)**

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Russia had always been the most daunting nation out of them all. Cold amethyst eyes would look about, observing the other nations, all the while a subtle insanity glinting in their depths. Most found him downright creepy. At times he would start to softly sing a Soviet Union song in a deep voice, just loud enough for the nations around him at the table to hear, most of which had long feared the large country. Perhaps it was because of this, along with his personality as a whole, that he did not have many friends. Allies, yes, but the relations were strained. Only his sisters, Ukraine and Belarus, really seemed to get close to him. But he seemed to have trouble dealing with the two, especially Belarus. That was, of course, until England had decided to risk France's life by daring him to seduce Russia into kissing him. Surely, the feat would be possible for the master of love, as France often called himself. Just a peck on the cheek would be fine, he said.

And so, France found himself walking across the conference room to where Russia was seated, passing by multiple friends and past targets of his seduction. What could he say? He enjoyed giving the other nations a little love, even if only for a night. Not that he was passing it out to everyone he met, no. He only came onto the ones that intrigued him, or who came to him first. The world conference, which was currently being held in Berlin, Germany, had once more gone into utter chaos as America proposed yet another ridiculous idea for ending who-knows-what.

France felt that England undoubtedly wanted to sentence the nation to his death. If he was unsure, he would just look back on the last conference. It was a sort of tradition for the two, a consequence of blackmailing on England's part, for him to dare France to do something to one of the other nations attending the conferences. At the last one, held in Vienna, Austria, England had dared France to grope Japan. Naturally, he ended up getting flipped by the nation with his arm nearly pulled out of its socket. The man liked his personal space. So yes, he had the utmost certainty that England wished an early death for France.

As he neared Russia, he gave him a brief, but thorough look over. The man, sitting contentedly in his seat while he watched the other nations bicker to one another, had on his normal attire, consisting of a long trench coat, a scarf, and gloves. Briefly he wondered what was hidden under the layers of clothing, but he pushed that thought away. This was _Russia_, and he definitely wasn't one to fantasize about. His eyes gleamed with amusement as a few of the other nations –Lithuania and Latvia- cowered away from his gaze and quickly joined in on the surrounding conversations. A faint smile graced his lips, one that made him look less sane than usual.

Straightening his posture and putting some confidence in his strut, France reached Russia, where he then rested a hand on the back of his chair and gave the imposing nation a lazy grin. Russia glanced up at France, raising a brow before speaking in English laced with a thick accent, "France, do you have business with me?"

Before France could come up with a response, Russia spoke once more, "Nyet. I do not remember either of us having business with one another. But please, get on with whatever you wish to say. I am finding that this conversation is distracting me from the wonderfully amusing Lithuania." At the sound of his name, Lithuania slowly turned around, alarm obvious in his expression, before he quickly turned around once more and hid behind Poland.

France nearly groaned in frustration, but held it in, letting out only a soft breath. England was so going to pay for this. France made a daring move, leaning down and sliding his arm around Russia's shoulder as he started to speak, "Mon ami, must I have a reason to speak with you? And I must say, there are _plenty _of others things I could do that would be, mm, even more distracting."

Russia moved his gaze from Lithuania and let it settle on France, pursing his lips, "And what do you have in mind?"

The intrigued look in the Russian's eyes made France want to back down, but he gulped down his cowardice and continued, "I _am _the country of love, non? I believe you could take a guess." As soon as the words left his mouth, France felt like smacking his head against the table. Well, if it was _cushioned._ He wouldn't want his face to get damaged. But with no way to take back his words, he just went along with it and plastered a seductive smile onto his face.

Russia let out a quiet laugh, the corners of his lips lifting up into a very creepy smile. The whole room froze at the sound of Russia's laugh, the other nations turning to look at the pair. Silence hung in the air, as most everyone in the room thought simultaneously, '_What did France just do…'_

Only England seemed to be unaffected, and in fact seemed to actually be _laughing_ at the sudden turn of events. France shot a brief glare toward the Brit. _Cocky British… _His thoughts trailed off as he once more made eye contact with Russia. Time seemed to start up again and the whole room went back to their bickering.

France straightened up, retracting his arm from Russia's shoulder and put a hand on his hips as he looked down at him. Mentally rebuilding his outer confidence, France grinned down at Russia, "So, would you be opposed to going out for a drink with me after this meeting, mon ami? I have recently discovered a decent bar in this city, and I'd like to go there again. That wouldn't be a problem, would it, Russie?"

Russia glanced up at France, the smile still on his face as he replied, "Nyet. Not a problem at all. Meet up in the lobby after, da?"

France nodded, "Oui. I'll be looking forward to it." He placed a hand briefly on Russia's shoulder before walking back to where England had been standing for the past ten minutes, watching his torture.

England stifled a laugh as he approached, and France just glared at him, "You wish for me an early death, don't you?"

England replied in broken phrases, each pause filled with laughter, "No, France… I would never—that was priceless!" France glared at him with more ferocity, and the Brit backed down, shaking his head. "I didn't honestly think you would have the guts to do that. You seem to treasure your face too much, and I was expecting it to end up with a bruise or two."

France skulked off to his seat as Germany once again gained control of the conference. He seemed to have a knack for controlling the trail of conversation at these things when they got out of hand and lost sight of their actual purpose. Just a little while more, and his descent to Hell would begin…

**::AFTER THE CONFERENCE::**

As the nations in attendance began to file out of the room to the elevators, France stalled, walking at a slower pace than normal. England went over to him, gave him a slap on the back, and said, "Good luck, _Master of Love. _I look forward to seeing the aftermath of your experience!" And with that, he was off, catching up with America and sliding into the elevator at the last moment.

Perhaps it was pure coincidence, or perhaps it was planning on Russia's part, but whatever it was, France and Russia ended up in the same elevator with only two other nations, both which were as far from the imposing nation as they could possibly be in such a small space. It was only France's pride that kept him from backing up into a corner himself. A long silence filled the elevator as it descended to the lobby, a process which seemed to take hours in France's overloaded mind. He dared a quick glance at Russia, and found himself staring into amethyst pools.

He nervously turned to face the man and rubbed the back of his head while putting on a forced smile, "That was quite a long meeting, wasn't it, mon ami? It's a shame that nothing seemed to get accomplished in that time, but there's always next time, oui?"

Russia nodded, "Da." The silence stretched on, and finally, the elevator reached the lobby. As soon as the doors opened, the frightened nations of Finland and Estonia scrambled out of the small space and reached the exit of the hotel in record time.

France softly laughed at the two in hasty retreat, part of him wishing he could do something similar, but he found himself trapped in the mess he weaved for himself. He exited the elevator with Russia following him and they strolled out of the hotel, an awkward silence between the two. This was why France tried to avoid the more quiet nations; awkward moments seemed to come about frequently with them. Russia, in particular, was hard to get along with, since not only was he quieter, he also had a very creepy side to him that clashed with France's open, more loving personality. And he was indeed, very loving. But even the self-proclaimed 'Master of Love' didn't have absolute confidence in his ability to seduce the larger, foreboding nation that was Russia.

After walking a few blocks from the hotel, they came upon a quaint little pub. The place was a small, but comfortable family-owned and operated bar. Outside it had a neon sign with bright red letters spelling out, "The Stork's Inn." It was a family run bar, with polite and competent workers. He had made friends with the bartender on his last visit, and the man was a rather good conversationalist.

They walked in side by side, taking seats at the bar. A German man with shaggy blonde locks held up in a small ponytail, soft blue eyes, and stubble lining his jaw came up to them. He gave France a faint smile, speaking as he cleaned out a few glasses and laid them out for later use, "Ah, Francis! Welcome again. Haven't seen you around in a while, herr? Just visiting the city, I take it?" His German accent was thick but his English was still well understood to France's ears.

France nodded, "Oui. It is nice to be here again. And this time I brought a friend." He paused and gestured to Russia, giving the nation a slight smile before continuing, "He seemed to be in need of a drink or two."

The bartender nodded faintly, glancing back and forth from the glasses to the Russian man, obviously unnerved by his appearance. "Well, what will it be for you two?"

France glanced at the available beverages behind the bartender, "I'll have a glass of wine. Your pick, mon ami." He glance over at Russia, "My treat, get whatever you like."

Russia stared down the man opposite from them, "Vodka."

The man nodded, seemingly eager to get away from the Russian, and went about readying their drinks. He set down two glasses in front of them and poured out a sweet-scented wine for France, and strong vodka for Russia before settling the bottles of liquor down beside them, "Enjoy." He then scurried off to attend to other customers.

France delicately picked up his glass, swirling the liquid in it for a moment before taking a sip and letting out a contented sigh, "Ah, not quite like the luxuries of France, but still containing a certain 'je ne sais quoi.' Perhaps it is because I am with you, mon Russie." He gazed at the taller nation, a lazy smile on his face as he took another sip of wine.

Russia seemed to be unfazed by the 'compliment' and downed the shot of vodka in front of him in one go before pouring himself another. He glanced around the pub, a subtle nervousness about him. France furrowed his brows, wondering what could possibly be making him nervous, but he was pulled out of his thoughts as Russia spoke, "Why did you invite me for drinks, France?"

Why, indeed. France was asking himself that very question, and could not come up with many good excuses, aside from the truth. As a spur of the moment thought, he said, "I wished to get to know you more. Just because you're tall, big, and very creepy at times.." he trailed off, mumbling various other negative traits about the nation before resuming his train of thought, "doesn't mean that you couldn't be a nice guy underneath it all."

Russia stared at him for a few seconds before downing another shot, appearing content with his answer. France took another sip of his wine, glancing back and forth from his glass to Russia, and back, desperate to crush the invading silence between them. He groaned inwardly. Getting a kiss from Russia was going to be no easy feat.

So, instead of just jumping straight into seduction mode, he began to make small talk, which with a little effort was going decently. They talked about both of their countries, business, and other random topics. Their talking went on for a good hour before Russia seemed to be getting more nervous and tense. France was beginning to get awfully worried at this strange behavior. Whatever upset the larger nation's mood was bound to bring misfortunes to others later on.

So, seeing that his time was starting to run out, France turned to seduction mode. Attempting to seduce Russia was a foreign concept to him, but being tipsy helped a bit. He was only on his second glass of wine, mainly because he wanted to have his mind mostly in order while being around Russia.

Acting slightly more drunk than he really was, he turned in his seat so his whole body was facing the nation and leaned toward him, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes, "You know, mon Russie, sometimes I look at you, wrapped in your coat and scarf, and wonder what would await the one who got to unclothe you. Would your skin be soft and muscled, cold even underneath the lairs? How would the creamy flesh taste on the tongue, how would it feel to be pressed flush against your unclothed body …" He trailed off, his eyes smoldering as he eyed the Russian up and down, adding more effect to his words. He was, in fact, wondering all of those things as he said them, but he wasn't going to admit that.

He continued, saying whatever came to mind after he was certain he had the nation's attention, "And those lips, those captivating lips.. Would they be rough, dry? Cold and soft?" He licked his own lips as he gazed at the Russian's, which were currently pursed in thought.

Russia stared down at France, his gaze unwavering. He took a quick glance around them, and stiffened slightly before relaxing once more. His gaze went back to France, and he leaned forward, moving so his lips were just barely brushing his cheek and whispered softly, not once taking his eyes off of France's, "Why don't you find out?"

France started, surprised at the Russian's response. He managed to regain composure, and then questioned, "May I?"

A soft sigh escaped Russia's lips, and he took his eyes off of France and made a small, barely noticeable gesture to the door, where a small figure was huddled, glancing every now and then through the window beside the entrance. France felt a sense of recognition as he glanced at the figure by the window, and looked back up at Russia, "Biélorussie?" The nation nodded, "What is she doing here?"

Russia gave him a faint frown, shaking his head softly, "Nyet." And with that, he slid off of the bar stool and tugged France off his, leading him into a shadowed area in the back of the bar. He pushed France gently against the wall and let go of his wrist. Resting a hand beside his shoulder, he leaned in, muttering under his breath, "How about we kill two birds with one stone?" Once the last word left his lips, Russia had France in a lip lock.

France's eyes widened, not expecting Russia to initiate such an action on his own. Vaguely, beneath his shock, he explored the sensation of the nation's lips against his. They were dry and cold, much like he expected, but also had a certain softness to them. The kiss was light and gentle, not meant to be passionate. A few seconds passed, and Russia's eyes opened and went to look to the entrance. France followed his line of sight, and was surprised to find than Belarus was gone. With that confirmation, Russia pulled away, staring down at France intensely. France met the gaze with a certain timidity, and silence stretched between them as minutes went by and neither spoke.

It was Russia who broke that silence. He laid his hand on France's shoulder, staring him straight in the eyes and softly saying, "Thank you." France furrowed his brows at him, but quickly looked away when Russia gave him a creepy smile. The Russian laughed, "I look forward to the next time, da?" Then he walked back to his seat, poured and downed one last shot of vodka, and waved a farewell to France before exiting the pub.

France just stared as the other nation left, his mind overloaded with what had gone on in the past few minutes. _Russie kissed you. Okay, goal accomplished… But what was that about killing two birds with one stone? _He sighed, _Just forget it. Who knows what's going through his mind. After all, he kissed me and then said he was looking forward to ne-. Hold up, _next time? _There was going to be a next time? _Instead of thinking more on the subject, France opted for downing his neglected glass of wine before paying for the drinks and walking back to his hotel in a daze.

Later, as he was on the verge of sleeping, curled up in his hotel room bed, he smiled. Maybe Russia wasn't such a cold nation after all.

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**Did you like it? Did you hate it? Do you think I should be punched in the face? I do~! **

**Constructive criticism and reviews much appreciated!**

**I hope there weren't too many mistakes... *hides in corner***

**Um... Should I say anything else...? o_o Meep. *slowly walks away***


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